Omega Sanction

Chapter Nineteen

"You think these are your guys?" Morty Lorsen pulled out a pair of rimless glasses and looked at the two downloaded images.

"Yes." Thorpe was in the passenger seat, Master Sergeant King cramped in the back of Lorsen's old car. "We think they're from the Middle East," he added. "Saudi Arabia."

"Odd names for Saudis," Lorsen noted. "I got just the guy for us to see." He threw the old BMW into gear and pulled into traffic.

"Who?" Thorpe asked.

"You'll see," Lorsen said.

They wove through the narrow streets of the old part of Stuttgart, several times almost colliding with a car coming the opposite way. With a squeal of breaks badly needing servicing, Lorsen spun the wheel and came to a halt in a narrow alley that barely allowed them to open the doors on the driver's side. Thorpe slid across the seat and followed Lorsen out, King getting out of the back.

"Do you know every back alley in Stuttgart?" Thorpe asked, trying to see into the darkness ahead.

"Not every." Lorsen was already walking and Thorpe and King hurried to catch up.

Thorpe stopped as Lorsen suddenly disappeared to the right. "Come on, come on," the old man's voice echoed back.

Thorpe turned the corner and saw Lorsen standing in front of a steel door. Above the door a video camera was staring at them, the little red light on the top letting them know they were being observed.

Lorsen was looking up at the camera and waving. "Me they know. You they'll be wondering about."

"Who?" Thorpe asked once more.

"You'll see. If they ever open this door." Lorsen waved his hands in front of the camera. "Let's go, let's go."

Thorpe was surprised when the door quietly opened, swinging back so smoothly he had no doubt it was being done mechanically. There was no one inside the small, white-painted foyer that beckoned. A wooden door was on the other end ten feet farther in. Another camera was above that door.

Lorsen ushered Thorpe and King in, the steel door swinging shut behind them with a solid thud.

"Are you armed?" Lorsen asked.

"Yeah," Thorpe answered.

"Put your weapons here." Lorsen pulled out a snub-nosed revolver and placed it on a small shelf.

Thorpe placed the 9mm pistol he had been given by Dublowski on the shelf, while King deposited a Beretta.

"One way mirror," Lorsen jerked his thumb at the large pane of reflective glass to their left.

"Who's watching us?" Thorpe asked. He felt naked without his weapon and the elaborate security measures did nothing to ease that feeling.

"Mossad," Lorsen finally informed him.

Thorpe had suspected as much. If anyone would have tabs on Middle Eastern personnel, it was the Israeli security agency.

The wooden door swung open. A tall, thin man waited. His face was drawn, the bones tight under the skin. He had short dark hair, a generous portion of it turning gray. His eyes were deep-set and a very dark brown, almost black.

"My old friend Mr. Lorsen." The man waved them inside. "With friends. At least I assume they are friends, although they came to my door armed."

"Everyone comes to your door armed," Lorsen said. "It's a calling card of the trade."

The man led them down a corridor into a small room with a table and several chairs. The walls were an off-green color that had seen better days. A fan revolved very slowly above their heads.

The man perched himself on the edge of the table. Lorsen sank down gratefully into one of the chairs. Thorpe and King remained standing.

"This is Major Thorpe and Master Sergeant King," Lorsen said by way of introduction. "Can I tell them your name?" he asked the man who let them in.

The man nodded.

Lorsen gave a small bow. "And this, my friends, is Esdras. At least that's the name he is currently using with me. Whether it is his first or last name, I know not and care not to know."

Esdras smiled. "Always a joker, old man." The smile disappeared. "What do you want?"

Thorpe pulled the printout of the two pictures and names out of his pocket and placed it on the table. Esdras picked it up. His face grew even more taut, if that was possible.

"How do you know these men?"

"They attended some military schooling in the States," Thorpe said. "James and Alex Matin. Our records indicate they are officers in the Saudi Arabian army."

Esdras tossed the paper back onto the desk. "What about them?"

"We feel they might have a role to play in the disappearance of several American military dependent girls in this area," Lorsen said.

"That is not my concern," Esdras said.

"The Samson option," Thorpe said, catching everyone in the room off guard.

Esdras's head snapped around. "Mr. Lorsen, please take Sergeant King into the corridor." His eyes remained focused on Thorpe.

Lorsen and King left the room, the door swinging shut behind them.

"The Samson option is fiction," Esdras said.

"It is now," Thorpe agreed. "But a year ago it was fact. I suggest you call your superiors and tell them my name. And the name Colonel Parker. And you might want to mention the Omega Missile."

Esdras turned and left Thorpe alone in the room. The second hand on the plain clock on the wall slowly made its way around as he waited. After five minutes the door opened once more and Esdras came back in. He took a seat on one side of the table and Thorpe sat across from him.

"I am informed that the State of Israel owes you a great deal of gratitude," Esdras spoke without inflection, "and that I am to extend to you and Colonel Parker any courtesy short of compromising my nation's security."

Considering he and Parker had stopped a nuclear missile just seconds from making Tel Aviv a fused-glass parking lot, Thorpe thought that was most kind of the State of Israel.

"Tell me about them." Thorpe stabbed his finger at the pictures. "Jawhar and Akil. You have a file on them?"

"I have our file on them being copied," Esdras said, "but I am fully up to date, as they are on our Level A list."

"Level A?"

"People who are considered real threats to Israeli security and interests." Esdras picked up the pictures. "Jawhar Matin, a.k.a. the Jewel Man, and his brother Akil."

"Why is Jawhar called the Jewel Man?" Thorpe asked.

"He wears a ring on every finger. His hands are probably worth a half million dollars, given all the jewels on those rings."

"Does Akil have a nickname?" Thorpe asked.

"He doesn't need one," Esdras said. "He's a killer. Most of his training comes courtesy of your United States. But the instinct, the cold blood and lack of conscience, that he was born with. Their father is Prince Hakim Yasin. Have you ever heard that name?"

Thorpe shook his head.

"Hakim is one of the top three oilmen in Saudi Arabia. So rich you don't even bother putting numbers against his name. More powerful than most countries. Which explains why these two pigs" — Esdras indicated the pictures—"are on our Level A list yet are still breathing."

"They both went to some military schooling in America," Thorpe said. "At Fort Rucker and Fort Benning."

Esdras nodded. "Jawhar is a helicopter pilot — trained at your aviation center at Fort Rucker. Akil is the commando. A graduate of your Ranger School at Fort Benning and Special Forces school at Fort Bragg. They are both colonels in the Saudi army, but they report only to their father.

"They are twins. Not identical, as you can see. Akil is the elder, born two minutes before his brother, Jawhar."

"But they're known by the name Matin, not Yasin," Thorpe noted.

Esdras nodded. "That is so. They are Hakim's eldest sons but not his heirs. Their surname is Matin, which in Arabic, Abd al Matin, means 'servant of the strong.' Which is why they are in the army and not in the oil business."

"Why aren't they his heirs?"

"Because of their mother." The door Esdras had gone through opened. A young woman handed him a file without looking at Thorpe and just as quickly departed. Esdras flipped open the file as he answered Thorpe's last question.

"Their mother was neither Yasin's wife nor Arab. Either one of those facts would have been enough to rule them out — both, well, it's surprising Hakim didn't kill them at birth. It would have been better for many people if he had."

"Here." Esdras slid a pair of color photos across. "Note their eyes, which you can't really see in your black and white image."

Both men had surprisingly blue eyes in their dark faces. Thorpe looked up from the photos.

"Their mother was American."

"Who was she?" Thorpe asked. "And how did she hook up with Yasin?"

Esdras rubbed his chin as he searched for words. "You might not technically call her a prostitute. I suppose that would be too harsh a term. But do you know anything about what goes on inside these rich Saudi families?"

Thorpe shook his head.

"Well, you do know that women do not exactly hold the greatest place in that society. The wives are veiled in public and strictly quarantined in private. The men, however are very much free to do what they wish and those with the money do exactly what they desire. Those that are not strict believers in the word of the Koran, that is."

"There is a very strong trade in women — almost a slave trade — except the women are usually paid off quite well for a year or so of, shall we say, work? If they are beautiful and any good at what they do, I understand the current payoff after a year's service is easily in the mid-six figures, U.S. money."

"Jawhar and Akil's mother was one such woman. Their father was apparently very fond of her. Normally if such a woman becomes pregnant, there is no question about it — an abortion is immediate. But Hakim Yasin is a strange man. Rather paranoid, actually, with good reason. Our theory is that he allowed this woman — Naomi Matherson was her name, by the way — to give birth once he found out that not only were they twins, but they were to be boys."

"He apparently felt that such boys could be raised to be loyal to him — Arabs are very big about blood ties and all that good stuff. Who knows? He couldn't raise them or even keep them in his immediate household — that would be a disgrace and embarrassment to his household and his wife. So he let their mother raise them."

Esdras turned a page in the file. "We don't have the complete story here, but she appears to have been — shall we say a 'bitch'? Because he sent her away to raise the boys, she could no longer enjoy the life she had had in his palaces. And because he wanted the whole thing low-key, she could not live a public life wherever she set up home. And because she had the boys, she was tied to him forever. So she ended up with the worst of both worlds. They spent most of their youth on the continent here, at some of the best boarding schools. But Yasin insisted she stay close by wherever they were and do nothing that could cause a scandal. He had men watching her all the time. She hated it. A prison without walls. After all, a woman who would end up in her situation is not the type who would enjoy sitting at home sipping tea and packing the boys' lunches, eh?"

"She took it out on the boys every chance she could." Esdras looked up from the file. "Abused, treated like the bastards they were, et cetera, et cetera. Not that I — or you, for that matter — give a shit, given what they are now. You can blame the process, but you also have to deal with the end result."

"When they turned fourteen, their mother tried to kill both of them and then kill herself. She succeeded in the latter, but unfortunately failed in the former. I hate incompetence, don't you?" Esdras did not wait for an answer.

Thorpe was growing a bit anxious with this lengthy discourse. He still had no idea if they had killed Terri Dublowski and Takamura. However, he knew that Esdras, like all in covert operations, felt that a complete briefing was critical to understanding a situation. There was also the possibility that Esdras would have no idea if the twins had had anything to do with Terri or the other girls.

"After their mother's death, their father brought them back to Saudi Arabia, but they were the bastards, so they were not treated well there either. He sent them into the military when they turned seventeen and there they have been ever since. Have you ever been on a UN operation?" Esdras asked in an abrupt change.

Thorpe nodded.

"Have you ever seen any Saudi troops? Even during Desert Storm, which was a UN operation?"

"Not in action," Thorpe said. "I heard they committed troops to Desert Storm, but I never saw them."

"Correct. Saudi Arabia's contribution to that and other UN operations consists primarily of money, which they have plenty of. They did send some troops to Kuwait, but they did little during the offensive."

"Of course, they don't want to give all that money and not have someone on the ground to see how things are going. Enter Jawhar and Akil. They travel around, with Jawhar piloting their own plane and helicopter. Visit UN forces around the world. Report back to their father on how his money is being spent. Not that Hakim gives a damn about the UN, but he does give a damn about political leverage, and he can use the UN for his own means."

"Could the twins be involved in the disappearance of American dependent girls from around this area?" Thorpe finally asked.

Esdras spread his hands. "It is possible. They do come to this area every so often to coordinate with your Seventh Army, which is headquartered here and is the higher headquarters for American forces deployed on the IFOR."

"I know it's possible," Thorpe pressed, "but" — he leaned forward—"you were told to cooperate."

Esdras sighed. "We know they kill. That they are sociopaths. Your intelligence people know they kill. All the intelligence agencies have a folder on these two. Who they've killed — how many they've killed…" He shrugged. "That we don't know, and to be honest, it has not been anyone's priority."

"No one's priority," Thorpe said. "How can—"

"Jawhar and Akil are agents of their father and their government. Our concern has always been their actions in the international arena."

"Great," Thorpe said.

"Jawhar was actually arrested once. In England. On suspicion of killing a seventeen-year-old girl. Three years ago. Not only did he have diplomatic immunity, his father wields a mighty economic lever. Jawhar was out of the country within forty-eight hours. He is banned from ever going back there — officially, at least."

"So he can get away with murder?"

"Yes. Jawhar seems to have a particular fetish for killing young women."

"Jesus Christ," Thorpe exclaimed, now knowing in his gut that Jawhar was their man. "And you guys just sit back and watch?"

"Would you prefer we kill Jawhar and start a war?"

"That's bullshit and you know it," Thorpe said.

"Maybe not start a war, but, for example, have Saudi Arabia pull the six hundred million dollars it has allocated to the IFOR in the Balkans? That is what concerns those who give me my orders and your intelligence people their orders. And why these two scum are virtually untouchable. I do not like it, but…"

"But you're just following orders, right?"

Esdras's lips drew into a thin line. "I am instructed to give you information, but please do not—"

"Tell you the truth?" Thorpe interjected. He leaned across the table until he was less than a foot from Esdras. "It's bullshit and you know it. You yourself said they were sociopaths. Doing whatever the hell they want, whenever they want, because their daddy pays money to the UN?"

"You are not so naive," Esdras shot back. "You Americans have a saying for it: Money talks."

"Yeah, that's right," Thorpe said, "but only to those who listen to that kind of talk." He sat back down and gripped the arms of his chair.

"What do you want from me?" Esdras asked.

"Where are Jawhar and Akil now?" If either of them were still in the States, Thorpe knew he had to get word to Parker and Dublowski. That would help explain what had happened to Takamura, at least.

"I don't know." He held up a hand to stop Thorpe's next words. "I sent a request to my headquarters for the latest information. The reply should be coming back any minute."

Thorpe forced himself to lean back and release the arms of the chair. "When Jawhar—" he began, but the door opened once more and the woman handed a sheet of paper to Esdras.

He read it, then looked up. "Akil and Jawhar are assigned to IFOR headquarters in Sarajevo. At the moment, Akil is listed as being back in Saudi Arabia."

"Not the States?"

Esdras raised an eyebrow. "No."

"When will he return to Sarajevo?"

"In three days."

"And Jawhar?"

"Jawhar is in the Ukraine. Chernovsty, to be exact."

"What's he doing there?"

"I don't have that information."

"How long will he be there?"

"We don't know."

"Can I take that file with me?" Thorpe asked.

"No."

"Do you know exactly where in Chernovsty Jawhar is?"

"Yes. He's staying at this hotel." Esdras slid a piece of paper across to Thorpe, who pocketed it.

"Do you have an agent in Chernovsty?"

"Yes."

"Can I contact him?"

"I'll check on that. I will get you the contact information through Mr. Lorsen." Esdras stood. "I believe that completes our business."

Thorpe didn't stand. "I don't think so."

"There's nothing more I can give you that—"

"What I was going to ask you before," Thorpe said. "When Jawhar and Akil came to Stuttgart."

"Yes?"

"If they are on your Level A list as you say, then you had to have put surveillance on them." Thorpe stood. "You know what they were doing here. You know whether they killed my friend's daughter. And I'm not leaving until you tell me the truth."

Esdras rubbed his forehead, then he walked over to a cabinet. "A drink?"

"No."

"Well, I'll have one." Esdras poured himself a shot. He threw it down with one quick practiced motion, then poured himself another, before sitting back down at the table.

"You are correct. We try to keep them under surveillance when they come into our area of operations."

Thorpe waited.

"I have been at this assignment for seven years," Esdras said. "It is an important one. Of course the Germans know we are here. We allow them some intelligence access in our own country. It is the way the game is played. A balancing act."

"Just like the Samson option and Red Flyer," Thorpe said.

Esdras nodded. "And Operation Delilah. I pretended not to know, but I knew about the Samson option. And your Red Flyer team placing their fake nuclear bomb outside of our storage site in the Negev Desert. Part of the game." Esdras wagged a finger. "But your Omega Missile getting launched — that was not part of the game."

"Omega Missile was launched by the man who designed it to stop the game-playing," Thorpe said.

"It didn't work."

"No," Thorpe agreed, "it didn't."

"Because people will be people and governments will be governments." Esdras threw the shot glass to his lips and emptied it. He got up and walked to the cabinet and poured one more.

"I drink too much," he said. "I know my superiors know. But what can they do?" He shrugged. "There are only so many people who can do this job. When they feel I am no longer an asset, they will put me out to pasture like they did the generation before me. Old men with crazy stories no one will believe. No one wants to believe." He sat down. "Do you know what our priority here is? Not espionage. No. We are here to watch the skinheads. 'Never again' is the cry. So we watch idiot youths run around and kick foreigners to death."

"Those youths are not the danger. They have little power. It is the people with power who would use the skinheads for their own means we have to fear. But people with real power — like Hakim Yasin — make governments do as they want, so we do nothing. All a game. A pawn cannot defeat a more powerful piece."

"It can if it gets close enough," Thorpe said. "You—" Thorpe began, but Esdras wasn't done.

"The Man Who Waits. Do you know who he was?"

"The man who sat on top of your nuke in Washington?"

"Yes. He was a friend of mine. We served together in a counterterrorist unit before the Mossad."

"The 269th of the Parachute Infantry Brigade?"

Esdras gave a wan smile. "See? There are no secrets."

"No, there aren't. You know what Jawhar and Akil did here." Thorpe said it as a fact, not as a question.

Esdras's eyes were unfocused, staring off into the distance. His fingers played with the shot glass. "I saw them in action once. The brothers. And did nothing. They killed a boy and a girl. After Jawhar raped her, of course. Watched them through my night-vision scope. The crosshairs of my rifle centered on Jawhar's head. It would have been so easy, but I had my instructions. Watch only."

Esdras looked over at Thorpe. "Do you judge me for that? I was following them. They made a meet with some people before and after the killing. Black market weapons people. We were able to give the information to the Germans and then closed down those weapons people and save many lives. So maybe it was the greater good?" Esdras didn't sound like he believed that much.

Thorpe tapped the picture of Terri. "Was this the girl you saw killed?"

"No."

"Do you know if they killed my friend's daughter? Terri Dublowski?"

Esdras ran a hand along the side of his face. "The two I saw killed were the only ones we know of for sure. I have heard rumors that Jawhar has taken some girls."

"Taken?"

"As I said earlier, there is almost a slave trade going on in certain Middle Eastern countries concerning women. While many know of those who are well paid to be there, there are also those who are not asked to come, but rather taken there, held prisoner and not paid, and who never come back. Especially if you are talking about underage girls."

"She might be alive?" The possibility had never occurred to Thorpe.

"They are only rumors," Esdras warned.

Thorpe remembered what the kids in the room had said about the Jewel Man. "Where would he take them?"

"I don't know. Somewhere back in Saudi Arabia, but the Yasin family has so many palaces and houses…" Esdras shrugged.

"Find out where."

Esdras nodded. "I'll try."

"The black marketers that Akil and Jawhar met," Thorpe said.

"Yes?"

"Why would the brothers meet with such people? They would have access to all the weaponry they want through legitimate means in their own country, wouldn't they?"

"That is a fair assumption," Esdras said.

"You don't know why they made the meet?" Thorpe was astounded. "I thought you said you shut down the black marketers. You must have interrogated them."

"I didn't shut them down," Esdras said. "We are in Germany, after all. We passed the information on to the Germans. GSG-9 took them down."

Thorpe felt like he was pulling teeth. "And what did they come up with in interrogation?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? Bullshit. You're the one who talked about balance. They would have given you that information in exchange for giving up the targets."

"You would think they would have," Esdras agreed, "but they didn't."

"What are they up to?"

"I don't know."

Thorpe stood.

Esdras stood also. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to find Jawhar. And you're going to help me."